


st. stephen's cathedral

by hwsfrancia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1520s, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Infidelity, M/M, Siege of Vienna, and roderich and antonio's marriage is loving but very messy, slightly weird unhealthy relationship dynamics because it is The Renaissance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwsfrancia/pseuds/hwsfrancia
Summary: In the aftermath of the Siege of Vienna, Roderich receives an unexpected visitor.
Relationships: Austria & Hungary (Hetalia), Austria/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	st. stephen's cathedral

Vienna

October 1529

The lady Hédervàry finds him in St. Stephen’s Cathedral, sitting down for the first time in what feels like months. Her doublet is torn, her face scraped, her hair tangled with muddy drips of snow and coming loose from it’s braid. She looks a hell of a lot better than him.

“Lady Hungary,” he says, by way of greeting. God, but he’s tired—the words fall off his tongue like rocks. Hédervàry grunts and sits down heavily next to him, the sword at her hip clanking. Roderich moves away a little. He does not need to get muddier than he already is. Even then, he can feel the heat off her body—or maybe he’s imagining things from the exhaustion.

“Not dead, eh?” Héderváry digs through her fur-lined doublet and pulls out a wineskin.

“I avoided it this time,” he says. “Why are you here?”

Hédervàry yanks the cork out with her teeth and spits it into her palm. Her hands are tanned and callused and suddenly, harshly, Roderich misses his husband. “Can’t I commiserate? Come, Sir Edelstein, this is my victory too. I want the pretender Zápolya gone, and the Ottomans out.” She takes a swig of wine, and then holds the skin towards him.

Roderich takes it, but doesn’t drink. “Why commiserate with me, and not your men? You made it plain enough that you dislike me almost as much as Suleiman.”

Hédervàry leans back on the pew. There’s a familiar looseness to her movements, and Roderich can tell that the skin is half-empty. He almost smiles, at seeing this terrifying horsewoman tipsy. “If we win this,” she says, “I’ll be seeing a lot more of you. I resent you, true enough, but I may as well learn to tolerate your company.”

 _You’re easier to get what I want from_ is left unsaid. Roderich would certainly never accuse her of _manipulating_ anyone—and in that at least, he can run circles around her—but certainly she must still think of him as a weedy little boy, too scared and scrawny not to give her what she wants. He thinks of how satisfying her face will be when he coolly tells her _no_ and almost smirks.

“I appreciate your honesty,” says Roderich, trying for sincerity. She’s called him stuck-up more times than he can count. Then, to show her he means it, he takes a long slurp off the skin, and almost gags. He manages to swallow, tears welling up in his eyes, and gasps, “what is THAT?”

Hédervàry throws her head back and laughs in a way that shakes her whole body. She brings her head up and grins fiercely. “Pálinka! I made it myself, with good plums, and you can barely choke it down. What an insult!”

Roderich can’t quite tell if she’s joking, but something about her laughter makes his chest loosen. He takes another sip, and swallows it as smoothly as he can, before handing it back to her. “No,” he says, and curses his voice for sounding raw. “I like it.”

Hédervàry is still grinning. “You don’t,” she says, “But I didn’t think you would. Now,” she corks the skin and sits forward. “I actually came here for a reason.”

Roderich sighs, pride still smarting. “What is that?”

Hédervàry looks sidelong at him, clearly relishing the pause. “Your husband’s here.”

The world seems to tilt and blur—or maybe that’s the damned Magyar plum liquor. “Antonio?”

“Unless there’s another husband of yours. Which wouldn’t surprise me.”

Roderich barely hears her. He stands up quickly, steadies himself—days of barely eating aren’t combining well with strong liquor—and moves towards the aisle. “Thank you, Erzsébet,” he can’t stop her Christian name from slipping out, and then, impulsively, he leans down and kisses her cheek.

She touches it awkwardly as he pulls away. “Sweet of you,” she says. Roderich starts his way out of the Cathedral. “I still don’t trust you,” she calls after him. He waves over his shoulder.

Antonio is easy to find—wrapped in a red fur-lined overgown and standing near a clump of soldiers. His posture is tall and strong, his clothes clean, rather than the dirty, slumped Austrian soldiers around him. He seems like the first bit of color Roderich has seen in months. _But that, of course, is ridiculous_ , he admonishes himself. I _will go and greet my husband with dignity_.

Roderich coughs. “Are you very cold?” The question slips out in German—he’s too tired to make the switch to the Latin they normally use.

His husband spins around, a grin lighting up his face. It warms Roderich all the way through like even the palinka hadn’t. Antonio calls his name, stepping forward to seize his shoulders. Roderich barely turns his face up before a small kiss lands on his mouth, warm and scratchy from Antonio’s stubble. He brings his hands up and rests them on his husband’s shoulders.

“My Roderich, you look exhausted,” says Antonio, in his lightly-accented Latin.

“I was,” he says, unable to fight the smile off his face. “But you’re here now. I’m quite recovered.”

Antonio pulls away. “You’re shaking harder than I am, and you ought to be used to this weather!” He wraps his arms full around Roderich, circling him in rich fur.

Roderich lets out a long breath and rests his head against the crook of Antonio’s neck. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Italy, anyways?” There are a dozen things simmering under his question. Naples’ big dark eyes blink in his memory. Has Antonio ridden all the way north for him, at the expense of his occupations in the peninsula? That would be a terrible flouting of duty, if he had, but the thought of it makes Roderich feel light and stupid with joy. To ground himself, he begins asking, “Did you get permission to come north? Have you anything to tell me? The Italian campaigns must be taxing.”

Antonio grins, takes Roderich’s face in his hands, and kisses him again, longer and firmer this time, effectively ending questions about Italy. One of his hands curls into his hair. The kiss goes on for a moment before Antonio breaks away. “Come to bed with me, Husband,” he says, and takes Roderich’s hand. “You’re tired. You’ve earned it.”

“Ah,” Roderich removes his hand. “Antonio. There’s so much to be done still. I would be shirking—“ another shiver runs through him and he breaks off, teeth chattering.

“Just for an hour,” Antonio looks at him with round green eyes. His other hand is still cradling Roderich’s cheek.

 _Dammit_ , Roderich thinks, _that’s my trick_. Then he shivers again, and takes Antonio’s hand. God, but he’s missed this hand, these rough fingers against his palm.

“Good,” Antonio kisses his cheek. “I’ve missed you—“

“All _right_ ,” says Roderich helplessly. _People will see_.

His husband leads him through the streets to one of his apartments in the palace, dodging stray soldiers and officials all the way. Roderich tells himself they won’t miss him for long. They stop in one of Roderich’s houses around the city. After being handed the key, Antonio flings the door open with the kind of energy that Roderich hasn’t had since at least August, and dumps his overgown carelessly on a convenient chair before crouching by the fireplace. It isn’t lit—this house is small and ordinarily kept by a small staff during the winter months, but Roderich had bid them work at one of the larger, better-defended houses when the siege began.

Roderich sits. “What are you doing down there?”

“Getting this thing lit,” Antonio’s flint and tinder has somehow remained dry, and he’s moving the bits of wood around. “It’s what I came here to do.”

“Light a fire?”

Antonio turns and looks at him for a long moment, before setting the stones down and putting his face in his hands. He mumbles something in Spanish, too low to hear.

Roderich rolls his eyes. “What—“ before Antonio seizes his hands from his lap.

“Not to light fires, you fool,” he says. “To take care of my husband.”

“Oh,” Roderich curls his hands slightly. “Well.”

“I know you’ve been shivering up here for months, not eating or sleeping enough,” Antonio throws his hands up in exasperation. "You're a self-sacrificial idiot, all the time. You don't know what kind of strain is on you until it sneaks up and you're knocked out for a month. Where do you think they would all be if you suddenly collapsed?" 

“I can stand it,” Roderich says weakly. “I'm not like my men, I don’t need as much food, or sleep—“

“We are the defenders of Christendom,” Antonio has risen almost all the way up on his knees, squeezing Roderich’s hands tight. “We protect each other, we keep each other strong.” There’s a hard, hungry glint in his eye, one that reminds Roderich of their wedding day, how he looked when it was mentioned how _powerful_ their union would be.

“Of course I came to see you,” Antonio says, voice softening. “I had to.” Just like their union nine years ago, Roderich feels himself swept up and overwhelmed. Antonio loves him for the power they give each other, true enough, but that love isn’t false. It’s kept Roderich with his feet on the ground for months, drawn his husband north for miles and miles just to see him.

 _It must be the truest love our kind can have_ , Roderich thinks, and pulls Antonio’s head forward to rest in his lap.

“You’re in a strange mood.” Antonio’s voice is muffled in his stomach.

“Months of inadequate food and sleep will do that to a man,” Roderich tells him, and strokes his hair.

“SO! You admit it. You are a fool who does not take care of himself—“

Roderich curls his body around Antonio’s shoulders, drawing little patterns on his back. “Silence, husband. I want peace.”

For once, Antonio obliges him.

**Author's Note:**

> -The Siege of Vienna lasted from September to October of 1529. It was part of an attempt by the Ottoman Empire to secure their holdings in Hungary, which they had conquered most of after the Battle of Mohács in 1526. 
> 
> -St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna was apparently used as a headquarters during the siege.
> 
> -"I want the pretender Zápolya gone, and the Ottomans out.” John Zápolya was a Hungarian nobleman and King of Hungary after 1526 until 1540. He replaced Louis II, who was killed at the Battle of Mohács, as a ruler loyal to the Ottoman Empire. 
> 
> -"overgown" just means a big coat, basically. 
> 
> -palinka is a type of Hungarian/Romanian liquor made out of fruit. Thanks to  Aamalysstuff  for answering my questions about it :D
> 
> -Any history errors are on me and I'm 100% open to discussion/critique. Most of this I got from wikipedia, and while I doubt anyone would take the time to make things up about Renaissance battles on wikipedia, it's possible. So if any Central European History Majors are reading this and gnashing their teeth please let me know. 
> 
> -this had porn in it originally, but I cut it out because the dialogue was clunky and the transition was awkward and Antonio came off as too much of a creep. Which, he is a creep, but I wasn't doing it right, trust me. I'm going to rework and post it as a second chapter, maybe.


End file.
